A Light in the Dark
by TutorGirlml
Summary: Emma's desperate drive to rescue Henry and worry for what might be happening to him cause old memories of her unhappy childhood to surface. There's only one other passenger on the Jolly Roger who seems able to understand and help her... One-Shot; Sometime in the midst of Season 3's premiere episode, when they're still on the ship off the shores of Neverland


_Here we go again! The "Once Upon A Time" story ideas just won't leave me alone, so I'm posting yet another one. This one is a one-shot, but it might be the longest one-shot I've ever written! It just kept growing – even when I thought it was finished, more kept pouring out of me. I meant for it to be posted before Sunday's premiere, so that it wouldn't be made AU by whatever might happen. However, I think the content is still relatively okay, though there is some imagined Emma background included. Just pretend this happened sometime before they got off of the Jolly Roger in Neverland, and you'll be all set. It's also my first Captain Swan fic. I love that pairing, and I've read quite a few, but it took me a little time to feel like I could even attempt to write Hook/Killian. Let me know if you think I've captured even a bit of him with this!_

_As always, I don't own them or anything to do with the show; it only runs constantly in the back of my head! __ The included song lyrics aren't mine either; they're from the Lifehouse song "Broken"._

A Light in the Dark

By: TutorGirlml

_ Darkness – complete and solid – closed in on her, smothering her and stealing her breath. Nothing was visible, there was no sound; it was as if she had fallen into a vacuum or been swallowed whole. Panic gripped her, and she strained to see something, anything, but this solid, black nightmare was relentless and complete. She opened her mouth to scream, to cry for help, to beg someone to find her and pull her from the abyss, but as she did so, it seemed that the darkness itself slipped into her very body, crept into her mouth, stifling her screams, and into her nose, blocking all the air she needed to breathe. She was being buried under its weight, the black wave taking her under silently even as she tried to fight. Kicking and clawing, she wailed in terror, frustration and anger, though it made no sound. Then, suddenly, she was shaken awake…_

A whimper escaped Emma Swan's lips as she came back to wakefulness – not sure where she was for a moment, but ridiculously glad that she could make out dim lights, texture, and color instead of inky darkness. The piteous whimper she realized too late must have escaped made her blush when she saw that someone was with her and had heard her panic and fear. A hand rested on her forearm, where the person had gripped to shake her from the nightmare. She knew whom it belonged to; even before she glanced down to see the long, graceful fingers bedecked with rings, which confirmed it was Hook beside her.

"Emma, lass, are you alright?" the intoxicating voice asked curiously.

_'Just my luck,' _ Emma thought drolly, trying to gather her wits, steady her breathing, and come down from the raw anxiety her dream had induced. _'How did he happen to find me in mid-nightmare anyway?' _Her chest ached tightly, and she forced herself to draw in a few deeper breaths before attempting to answer him, merely nodding as she scrambled to right herself.

She felt foolish, having him see her weak and off-guard. He was more dashing and attractive than she wanted to admit, and so, naturally, she always wanted to have her defenses in place against his charm. She might not be the typical girlie princess, but that didn't mean she wanted to look ridiculous in front of a handsome, devilishly flirtatious man. Under the embarrassment though, was a real part of her which only wanted to curl back up and cry at the awful memory – which she knew the dream had been. Couldn't he just go away and let her pull herself back together? She tried to glare at him, but knew that curled up against a barrel on the deck instead of in her bunk below, and with dried tear traces on her cheeks, she couldn't look a bit threatening.

"What are you doing up here, love? Don't like a nice, soft mattress when you could sleep on cold, hard wood?" He gave her a lopsided half-smile, chucking her lightly under the chin with the shiny curve of his hook, then standing before offering a hand to pull her up after him.

She rolled her eyes at him out of habit, not wanting to admit that she had felt closed in below deck, even before the dream. Instead, she took his offered hand, not fighting him, but secretly savoring his warmth after the shaking emptiness left lingering within her from the dream. When he purposefully used too much force and pulled her not just up, but flush against his sturdy frame and into his arms, they stayed like that for several delicious, silent moments, letting the gentle rocking of the waves and the human contact ease them both. Yet, when she still failed to push him away, Hook eventually held her out at arm's length, in order to search her haunted, stormy eyes. "What is it, Swan?" he asked, truly curious, even concerned, as one eyebrow quirked up with his words.

Emma blinked for a moment, stunned at the sudden impulse to tell him what she had dreamed, where the dream came from, and how frightened she was for Henry, and for all of them, at each passing minute. Not sure what could possibly be wrong with her, she looked down, breaking from his intense gaze and murmuring, "Nothing. It's nothing."

The old flight reflex kicked in again, as she quickly pulled away and escaped below, leaving him to stand there, puzzled and worried for her.

_The broken clock is a comfort, it helps me sleep tonight_

_Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time_

_I am here still waiting, though I still have my doubts_

_I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out_

_I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing_

_With a broken heart that's still beating…_

…_I'm barely holdin' on to you…_

Days and nights passed, oddly blending into each other, as was Neverland's way, and proving difficult to measure or count. Hook spent many sleepless nights on the deck of the Jolly Roger, watching for the countless unsuspected threats – both ones he remembered from his previous time in this sinister realm, and those that he realized he might not yet know. He pretended that someone needed to be at the helm steering, so they did not go off course, but in truth, he was restless. He had hoped to run into Emma again, when they could speak alone as they had done that night. He knew she was desperate to find her son, but it was more than that. Though he hated to see her fragile and afraid, he longed to know what that haunted look was in her eyes. It took one tormented, sleepless heart to know another, he supposed. In the long ages he had sailed the realms, sleep had never proven to bring him much rest, nor any peace.

She had not appeared to him since then, but that didn't mean his ears weren't still straining for any sound of someone moving around below deck, or for the soft brush of footsteps on the stairs. He found that he had been on his feet for longer than he could remember, and that he didn't know when he had last snuck even a cat nap. His hands gripped the wheel, and he forced himself to keep a ready eye out over the starlit waters. Things seemed peaceful, even lovely, this quiet night, but Neverland had a masterful way of deceiving the unwary. He _would _get Emma and her family –even the Crocodile – to Henry, if it was the only heroic thing he ever accomplished. He did not want the lonely life of an abandoned child, which he had lived, for Emma's lad. The hardening of heart and self-concern needed to survive alone would change even the sweetest, most innocent nature. He had also taken a beautiful young mother away on his ship once before, leaving her child behind. Though he had tried to right that wrong, it had been too late, and that abandoned child had never fully recovered. He _would see_ this mother and her son reunited.

It was more than enough to keep anyone awake, yet despite all the thoughts circling in his brain, his eyelids were growing heavy, his grip slackening on the wheel, his head bobbing lower and lower. Even a haunted pirate captain succumbed to sleep from time to time…

_ "Milah!" It seems that his very soul is ripping loose in the harsh, ragged cracking of his voice. The Dark One holds nothing but dust in the scaly, green hand which had been gripped around her heart. Killian cradles her body as they both hit the hard, planked deck of the Jolly Roger. His crew looks on – though shocked, terrified, confused, he does not known nor care. Already, her eyes are losing focus, and though she still draws breath, it grows fainter with each passing second. She looks to him once more, her dark, beguiling eyes pained but also full of love, bidding him farewell without spoken words. He knows that this is the first time he has ever been loved in this life, and that it will also probably be the last. Some might think pirates soulless villains with no hearts to break, but Killian Jones knows this isn't true as he feels his heart blacken and twist within him when Milah breathes her last and her lovely face is shuttered forever._

_ With a howl of rage, he is on his feet, vowing revenge on the demon who has taken the only person ever to give him a sense of home and belonging. He moves forward, agile and ready to fight, until utter shock sets in. The next moment it seems, his severed hand hits the wooden deck with a lifeless thump, blood spurts everywhere, and there is a tortured, animal cry being wrung from his throat. Pain like he has never known wracks not just his heart, but every nerve. The sea around them, the whole scene, begins to swirl dizzily, and he howls in guttural anguish…_

"Hook? Hook!" He jerks awake, a yell still caught in his chest, gasping for breath and clutching at the stump beneath his hook. Her voice is soft, wondering, and concerned – something he has not merited from anyone in a very long time. Killian blinks blearily, trying to right himself into the present, and further disoriented by her small yet steady, bracing hands on his shoulders as she turns him toward herself for scrutiny. She looks like a beautiful one of Neverland's own mermaid sirens in the moonglow.

"Emma?" he questions, raking his hand through his dark, disheveled hair and straightening from where he had fallen asleep slumped against the wheel.

"Yes, it's me. Are you alright?" She shivers slightly, and he notices that she only wears one of her typical thin, white tanks and a gauzy pair of shorts, which show so much of her gorgeous, long, alabaster legs that he fights not to reach out and run his good hand along her skin.

"Aye, right as rain," he assures, his confident air coming back to him as he wakes more fully and his dream of the past recedes further.

"Don't you have a Captain's quarters with a bed somewhere on this ship?" she asks with a teasing quirk at the corner of her smile, purposefully mocking his question to her some nights ago when he had awakened her. "Or you'd rather sleep standing up against cold, hard wood?"

He can't help the lecherous gaze that slips into his eyes when he leans into her personal space to respond, just as she can't mask the shiver that runs through her as he murmurs his next words silkily right next to her ear. "Bed's not much fun without someone to share it, love. Are you offering to remedy that situation?"

Her bewitching eyes manage to produce some fire for the glare she levels at him, but he notices that a layer beneath the disapproval, her gaze also reflects loneliness and longing so keen he can feel it echoing in his own soul. _'The lady does not protest half so much as she pretends to,' _his subconscious whispers, and it's hard to temper the rush of hope that flares in his chest. He had told her atop that blasted beanstalk that she was an open book, but it's not so much that she is easy to read as that he is familiar with the story. He has suffered many of the finer, more painful points in his own life as well. They are probably more kindred than either of them have understood up to this point.

Breaking the charged silence, Emma clears her throat, looks down, and then takes a small step back – as if to steady herself. When she speaks again, the comfortable, self-preserving tone of jest is back in her voice. "So, even the great pirate captain has nightmares, does he?"

Killian doesn't quite know how to respond to this. It seems quite an obvious answer, seeing how she found him and that he can't really deny it. Still, he is equally as proud and stubborn as she, and doesn't like admitting weakness either. He gives her a small nod and says nothing.

She pauses for a moment, pursing her lips, unsure, as if realizing that she might have sounded too condescending or unkind and not sure how to fix the blunder. Finally, she gives an awkward shrug and moves to stand beside him, both of them leaning against the ship's side. "Want to talk about it?" she offers, keeping her tone light, but also holding a good deal more caring.

It is that awkwardness and hesitance beneath the tough, capable armor she wears that undoes him. She might be a princess who was always loved and cherished, but she grew up not knowing it, spent her whole life uncared for and alone, unaware of whom she was or how special she was. She has been rejected, betrayed, and decided that love isn't worth the pain it brings. He bears the searing recognition of that ache in his chest. What an odd, broken pair the two of them make.

Still, he very nearly tells her it's nothing, brushes her questions off, and says he's fine. Then something stops him. If he can share some of his scars, let her in to see the other side of him – Killian, instead of just a swaggering, self-serving pirate – maybe she will do the same in return. Maybe he will find out how to ease her pain and just what it is she truly needs.

_The broken locks were a warning, you got inside my head_

_I tried my best to be guarded; I'm an open book instead_

_I still see your reflection inside of my eyes_

_That are looking for purpose; they're still looking for life_

_I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing_

_With a broken heart that's still beating_

_In the pain, there is healing_

_In your name, I find meaning_

_So I'm holdin' on_

_I'm barely holdin' on to you…_

"What do you wish me to say, Swan?" he asks, not truly meaning to antagonize her, but – despite his best intentions – not knowing how to lay several ages' worth of pain, emptiness, and anger out for someone else to see. "I was back on my ship the day the Dark One crushed Milah's heart and she died in my arms. The screaming may have partially been from reliving having my hand removed, but the real pain was losing the only person in any realm who ever cared for me…" He stopped abruptly, suddenly very interested in examining his hands. That was more than enough; as if what he had already let slip wasn't too much to ever admit.

"The only one?" she scoffs, not malicious, but disbelieving. "Come on, Hook. You mean to tell me that a pirate with your looks and free reign of the world hasn't had women falling at your feel all your life?"

"Believe it or not, I was not that old when I met Milah. I was new to life as a pirate captain. And after? …I did not much care to be with anyone. I might well be a curse to anyone who does stay with me for very long. All I have cared about since that day is finding a way to repay the Crocodile for what he took from me. I've lost anything else that mattered."

He winces, when instead of confiding her own fears, he seems only to have wakened Swan's curiosity to ask more questions. "What do you mean you're a curse? That's stupid. Even if you've not had nearly as many conquests as you'd lead a person to believe, you must have friends and a family, right?"

"Friends!?" It was his turn to scoff at her words. "Not unless you wish to count a crew that follows my orders but would turn on me in a heartbeat for the right price. And family? None that I could call on as a person should be able to. My mother died when I was so young I barely remember her, and my father abandoned me as a boy in favor of saving his own skin."

Emma's whole face changes at this revelation; her eyes clouding and taking on the stormy look he adores – like a sea squall blowing up on the horizon – and her mouth falls open as a light exhalation of surprise escapes. She doesn't speak for some time, until she finally raises a trembling hand and touches his cheek, making him turn his head into her touch.

"You weren't just bluffing, were you?" she breathes, sounding stunned. "All those months ago, when you talked about knowing what a Lost One looked like… You know what it feels like too, don't you?" The hand on his cheek is almost stroking his skin now, the caress as light and as ginger as her voice, but comforting all the same. Killian isn't even sure Emma realizes she's doing it.

"Aye, lass, I have been lost for most of my life. Still was, in fact, until some blonde temptress chained me up and left me atop a bloody beanstalk." He is trying to edge back onto more comfortable, easy territory, almost unnerved by such tenderness from her, or from anyone.

It appeared she wasn't quite ready to let the conversation go, however. Maybe she does need to talk. "It's okay, you know," she says after a time, pulling him over to sit on a couple of the large barrels nearby. "You aren't cursed. You aren't even the villain I thought you were." Here she chuckles mirthlessly, shakes her head, and then adds, "Anyway, you can't be nearly as broken as I am."

"Oh no?" he questions, not pushing, but certainly wanting to know whatever she will share of herself – what drives her, what still torments her, and if he can help. Emma simply listening and admitting that she sees more in him than she did has made him feel immensely better; he would do the same for her if she will let him.

"Well, I can't even sleep anymore without dreaming about the darkness…wondering if Henry's alone in the dark right now….if he's as terrified as I used to be…" Emma stutters this much out with several pauses and a few gulps for air, but then stops, still leaving him with too little information to put it all together. "Forget it, it's silly," she snaps abruptly, moving to stand and run off again, but Killian catches her by the wrist and pulls her back.

She won't look at him anymore, but he notices that her teeth are nearly chattering and her skin is covered in gooseflesh. His mind berates him as an idiot for letting her freeze in the night air, and without further hesitation, he removes the long coat he always wears, and drapes it over her shoulders, following it with his arm and then rubbing up and down her arm to bring some warmth back to her limbs. All this is done wordlessly, since he wants to do nothing to spook her or appear to be making a move. Once he has settled himself beside her again, and is marveling at the fact that she has leaned over ever so slightly into his side, he finally offers, voice a bit husky, "Whatever it is, darling, I'm sure it isn't silly."

Emma takes a shaky breath, bites her bottom lip, and then continues. "I haven't even thought about the dark like that for years. It was so long ago, and I'm supposed to be past it…" Finally, the rest of the story floods out of her lovely lips in a rush. "When I was in my fourth foster home – maybe six or seven years old – I was the youngest of five foster kids there. Both of the so-called parents were mean drunks, the type that only take in kids for the money they'll make. They didn't care a bit about parentless kids needing someone to love them. We were a paycheck, plain and simple. Those two adults were awful, but the older kids weren't much better. It was bad in so many ways, but I must have been young enough to annoy them even more than the rest. I-I don't even remember w-what I did the first time it happened…but that woman…she grabbed me by the arm, drug me down the hall, and sh-shoved me…into the crawlspace. She slammed the door, and I heard her pull something in front of it, s-so I couldn't get out. It was pitch black, to the point that it felt like I'd gone blind. The dark felt like it was closing in to swallow me whole. That first time, I didn't think she would ever let me out - that I was going to die there. When her idiot husband found me hours later and let me out, he had a good laugh at the way I was still shaking and lightheaded and in the midst of a panic attack. It happened several times after that, but that first time is what comes back in nightmares – the time the darkness was never-ending. …What if Henry is in the dark somewhere, and they're tormenting him for fun?" She is silently crying now as she asks this last question and voices her own terror along with her fear for her child.

Sometime as she has been spilling out this horrifying story, Killian is startled to feel that he has wrapped both arms around her slim frame and pulled her into an embrace. His good hand is sifting gently through her flaxen hair, and his chin is resting on the top of her head, which she has tucked into his shoulder. He hopes the touch is comforting; it is nearly all he can stand to hear what had been done to her and not be able to do more to help. One thing is certain: he does not want to let her go.

Carefully, he offers all he can think of to help her somewhat. "Don't think the worst, lass. We don't know why they wanted your lad, but they must have a reason. If they're willing to brave Neverland to achieve their goal, then they are going to take care of him until they do so. As for these nightmares, don't think of it as weakness. Neverland is the place where we never grow up. It's sending your thoughts back to your childhood. It feels real, but that's just part of how this forsaken island plays with the mind."

"Oh, you mean I'm not just a teary basketcase then?" she sniffles, pulling away just enough to look up at him. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and the small smile that comes to her mouth is tremulous, but it's there.

"Certainly not, m'lady," he responds, allowing the joking tone to come back into his voice as well.

She stands and turns to look out over the water into the dark, lit only by the stars and their reflection off the waves' surface. "I won't want him to be frightened," she says at last, still focusing her gaze out there, as if she can make her boy appear if she concentrates hard enough. "I don't want him to think I've left him alone with them."

"He knows, love," Killian stands too and takes his place beside her, resting a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Your boy knows you're coming for him. He _is _going to be fine."

She nods, there's a pause, then, "Thank you," she whispers, almost soundlessly. "We wouldn't be this far if you hadn't come back to help us."

"It's nothing," he assures her, still a bit offhanded, but also not wanting to give her anything else to feel guilty about. "We _will _get him back, rest assured. If they have harmed one hair of his head, I have no doubt you will make them regret it, and they'll taste my cold steel as well." He raises his hook slightly, leaving no doubt of his intentions.

She nods as if they are agreeing on an unbreakable deal, and then both of them turn to look overboard once more. It is still a dark unknown stretching out before their eyes, but it no longer seems impenetrable and devouring. Together they will face whatever comes and fight until Henry is safe again. Slowly, Emma's hand reaches between them until she finds Killian's good one and entwines her fingers with his, squeezing tightly.

He gives her a rakish grin, grateful that she can't feel his heart racing at the mere clasp of hands, and she feels him banish a bit more of the darkness that surrounds her. Strength is born of their determination, and both are stronger in their broken places.

_I'm hangin' on another day_

_Just to see what you throw my way_

_And I'm hanging on to the words you say_

_You said that I will be okay…_

_I may have lost my way now, haven't forgotten my way home…_

_In your name I find meaning_

_So I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on…._

_Holdin' on to you…_

_Darkness settles over her again, fading from starlit indigo to midnight blue to deep black. It covers her, and the trapped feeling returns again. She tries to beat back the sense of capture, to not let that old, familiar vice grip of panic clamp her in its iron clutches, but already her chest is heaving for air. She's panting and thrashing her head from side to side. Nothingness, bleak and horrifying, yawns before her like the gaping maw of some monster. She has been here before and knows that there is no escape._

_ Then, through the blackness, comes Henry's bright, beloved voice. He sounds excited, well, and anxious to see her as he calls out, "Mom! You made it! I knew you'd find me!"_

_ She can't see him, but she knows by the sound of his voice that he is okay, and lets herself be comforted by the hope that he is expecting her to come and rescue him, and that he does not seem to have lost an ounce of the innocent belief that buoys him. Then, within the hushed nightscape of the dream, she sees a flicker, and then a flare, of light. A pleasing warmth spreads throughout her stomach, energizing every nerve and making them hum contentedly when she knows those two, tiny pinpoints of light breaking through the dark are two very familiar, icy-blue eyes. She moves toward that gaze, even if it is a mirage of her imagination. To her immense relief, this has shifted from a nightmare into a dream of normal slumber. The dark now lies over her like a cozy blanket instead of a smothering shroud. Not sure whether she is feeling something concrete or imagined, she reaches out for his hand, knowing she will find it there. Hook's firm, calloused fingers wrap around hers, his much larger hand closing over her small one warmly. With that, the dream recedes completely, and she sinks finally into a peaceful sleep._


End file.
